


Pis-Aller

by Siobhan_Schuyler



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siobhan_Schuyler/pseuds/Siobhan_Schuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This can't be undone. Once we run, that's it. We can never come home," he says, like he's talking to himself even as he's looking straight at Neal.</p><p>"Home becomes something else," Neal says quietly, in case it helps. He smiles humorlessly. "I hear it's just where you hang your hat."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pis-Aller

**Author's Note:**

> This is in the same universe as [Out of the Ashes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/410970), which was not intended as a series but may very well become one. Things are being told out of order, in any case. This verse is technically OT3 but this part can read gen-ish or Neal/Peter if that's what you're into. "Pis-aller" is archaic French for "last resort".

Neal finds Peter in a booth at the back of a diner in Hell's Kitchen. Peter had sent directions through Mozzie, whose message had been expectedly cryptic but ultimately safer than Peter contacting Neal directly. Neal slides into the bench seat opposite Peter, both hands flat on the table between them. A curl of dread licks at Neal's stomach at the look on Peter's face.

"They know I killed Ziegler," Peter rasps, without waiting for Neal to ask. 

He looks exhausted, at the end of a rope Neal had thought infinite. By his calculations, Peter hasn't slept in over seventy-two hours. Nor has he changed, or shaved. Peter does casual but this is disturbingly dire, betraying the severity of their predicament.

Neal reels with the itch of indignation. "You killed Ziegler because you had to. It was self-defense. How can the Bureau--"

"It wasn't self-defense, Neal. I killed the guy because he wanted to kill you. He didn't even have a weapon." Peter sounds, most of all, tired.

"But you knew what he was capable of." 

"I did." 

So did Neal. But Peter says it like the moment still haunts him. It does, judging by the bruise-like shadows under his eyes, the thousand yard stare. Neal's seen him do much more damage to much worse people but it's always something like this, the game-changer you didn't see coming, that upheaves your life unexpectedly.

"There's something else," Peter says, eyes stuck to the white ceramic mug in his fidgeting hands. "They've threatened El. Ziegler's boss, Tanenbaum, the whole fucking crew. They-- they want her dead. And I don't know what to do, Neal, I don't have a badge or a gun anymore, and the Bureau is two seconds away from slapping a murder charge on me and sending you back to supermax and then El, she'd just, _Christ_ \--"

Neal stops him by grabbing his wrists, solid but tender in a way, thumbs stroking. It gets Peter's attention somewhat, shakes him out of his panicked tirade but leaves it stuck in Peter's chest, heaving with fear as he looks up at Neal. 

Neal needs Peter to be looking at him right in the eye for this one.

"Just say the word," Neal says quietly. It's like toeing the edge of a cliff you can't wait to jump off of, like holding your breath for the slow climb up the lift hill of a rollercoaster. Neal's heart hammers in against his ribs. "You just say the word and -- we'll run. You and me and Elizabeth. I have aliases I never touched, a few of Alex's old ones, I have money stashed where no one but me can get to it. They'll never catch us. You'll be free and she'll be safe and we'll be untouchable. Without you to catch me they have nothing."

Neal squeezes Peter's wrists and sees it in Peter's tired face; how he's contemplating this uncertain future for the three of them, felons and fugitives and the type of tragic lovers Neal's always had a penchant for. It's tempting, even for a man like Peter, who used to put so much faith in the system, until the system screwed him over.

He watches Peter take a deep, unsteady breath. 

"This can't be undone. Once we run, that's it. We can never come home," he says, like he's talking to himself even as he's looking straight at Neal.

"Home becomes something else," Neal says quietly, in case it helps. He smiles humorlessly. "I hear it's just where you hang your hat."

Peter smiles ruefully, sitting back, breaking contact. Neal leaves his hands on the table while Peter folds his arms over his chest, a physical manifestation of this last-ditch effort at self-preservation. "Do you know what they do to federal agents who go rogue?"

"Nothing, as far as we're concerned, because they'll never get you. I was uncatchable and you caught me twice; _you_ will be... intangible." 

"Intangible," Peter repeats after a beat, like he's breathing in the word and shuddering out the inevitability of it. It's a leap, Neal knows.

"Just say the word," Neal repeats softly, bracing himself.

There's a long silence after this, while Peter stares at the grainy tabletop and Neal stares at Peter. A middle-aged waitress comes by to offer Neal some coffee and top up Peter's, smiling at them warmly even as they dismiss her tersely. Funny how the world keeps going even when your whole life just spun off its axis.

"El is with Mozzie," Peter says eventually, voice stronger like he took a decision, like he's in a boardroom with his team, planning a sting. Something in Neal's chest leaps with careful hope. "She'll want to go home to pack and we might have until tonight, at most. I don't want-- I don't need anything but she will, just a few things, she." Peter's voice breaks suddenly, gasping wetly. "They want her dead, Neal," he says, voice going hard.

Neal had an inkling that that'd be what would cinch the deal. It's always about a girl, for guys like them.


End file.
